


Obsessed, Possessed, Depressed

by tjstar



Series: you look like death [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Ghosts, Horror, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Klaus Hargreeves Whump, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Modern!Dave, Murder Mystery, No Incest, Past Child Abuse, Possession, Pre-Canon, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Bonding, Trauma, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24110047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: Klaus always needed a sign to stop doing drugs.Thisis not what he meant.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Dave/Klaus Hargreeves
Series: you look like death [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739590
Comments: 31
Kudos: 423





	Obsessed, Possessed, Depressed

“You look like death.”

These are the first words he gets from Ben as he blinks his eyes open.

“Just out of the rehab. Come on, Klaus.”

Klaus presses his palms to his ears and sits up. He knows he’s screwed. He’s naked, except for a thin blanket covering him from the waist down, he’s sharing a bed with a guy, stark naked as well. _Great._ With blood boiling in his skull, Klaus picks his clothes scattered across the dirty floor and dresses up in a haste. The guy keeps snoring with his nose planted into a pillow while Klaus tiptoes down the hallway, stepping over a bunch of empty bottles and some passed out people sprawled across the floor like soldiers on the battlefield. He’s in a shelter, he’s been there before, he’s seen these gray walls — that’s so boring — and stinky mattresses. 

His mind doesn’t even remember having sex, but his body does — his thighs ache, skin crawling and burning. Worst of all, this is not the first time when he wakes up like this. And the drug that’s still coursing through his system was an excellent memory-eraser. 

“Did you see anything?” Klaus asks, throat tight. Choking. Amazing. 

Ben shakes his head. 

“I disconnected when you mixed those pills with vodka.” 

Klaus clicks his tongue.

“With _gin,_ not vodka.”

“I see no difference.” 

Klaus smiles. His jaw and his lips hurt, and he keeps rubbing his chin as he walks around the shelter; boys and girls are still high, out like a light and having those acid-produced dreams. Klaus wins the battle with his conscience and fills his coat pockets with everything he can find there. Pills, more pills, some cash and cheap, definitely stolen jewelry. Ben keeps repeating _stop, stop, Klaus, don’t do it, don’t break the law,_ and Klaus is _so,_ so pissed.

“I don’t even remember whether the sex was good or not,” he says with a dramatic arm spread. “So can I at least have some moral compensation?”

He needs money for a bus ride. And Ben knows it. Just like Klaus knows that they’re going… Somewhere. He got a good catch, but his yesterday is still covered with a mist — he was coming down so hard he could only hear the ghosts wailing all around him. 

And then he got high. 

He’s coming down now, again, plummeting down just to break his bones on the hard surface of the sobriety. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the tricks of his mind, he doesn’t like being a reluctant therapist for the phantoms. 

They want him, _Klaus, Klaus,_ they call. Klaus! Listen! Escucha! Hilf uns!

They turn every room to a mausoleum, every house he’s in is haunted. His body is not a temple, it’s a rave club. He just wants to get out, and this fan army of corpses keeps following him. Klaus gives them the oddest nicknames, like, _HELLO, Mr. I Accidentally Overdosed On My Bathroom Floor! How are you doing, Mrs. My Husband Never Knew When To Stop? GOODBYE._

“Don’t look at me like that,” Klaus increaces his pace, half running to the bus stop. “Gonna burn a hole in my back.”

“You should really get yourself checked at the hospital after all.”

Ben isn’t even panting. No gasps, no nothing. He doesn’t even need to breathe. And Klaus does — and he’s hyperventilating, his heart’s rattling in his chest. He’s about to kiss the asphalt, catching himself against the wall. He didn’t have HIV or STDs when he got admitted to Lakeshore Hills, but the possibility of turning to a horny biological weapon creeps him out. 

“Do you think Dad is going to put a statue on my grave when I die? Black marble and a mournful quote on a golden plate,” Klaus cackles. “I bet he’s sure I’m gonna haunt him for the rest of his life.”

“Not if he dies first,” Ben shrugs.

Life’s unfair, Klaus gets it. But he still can’t get rid of the thought that he was just far too high to give a proper consent last night. There’s a sticky pain at the small of his back, he wants to take a bath and wash away his sins, his shame. But firstly, he has to pawn everything he could find in the shelter. 

***

He feels worse. He’s on the bus, standing next to the seat with his eyes screwed shut just to not see these yellow and white flashes of the sun as they pass the stop after the stop. It’s nauseating, everything is.

“Maybe we should go to Diego?”

Klaus shakes his head. _Listen, listen, help us! Why don’t you talk to us?_ Poor ghosts, they’ve got the worst medium to contact. A charlatan. It’s funny, and Klaus grits his teeth at them. On the periphery, Ben says,

“You don’t look so hot.”

The usual.

Klaus mumbles,

“Have I ever?”

Not loud enough for Ben to hear. His mouth waters, the taste is sour and bitter, and the bus shakes and rattles in unison with the never-ending ghostly lullaby, a prayer, a mantra. _Help us, salvaci —_ they’re chasing the wrong guy. Ben’s giving him a lecture again, but the white noise is far too annoying, and the urge to vomit is far too strong it pushes him over the edge. The next stop comes with a jerk and the screeching of the brakes, and Klaus barely manages to curl his fingers around the railing to not fall; he loses the last bit of self-control as soon as he stumbles out of the bus. 

“Breathe through it,” Ben keeps navigating him.

He can’t even make it to a public trash can, falling to his knees and puking his guts out onto the ground. Eyes still closed, he wipes the sweat off his forehead, hearing nothing but the erratic bursts of his heart; his stomach lurches again, he spits out a mouthful of viscous bile mixed with his saliva.

Ben is concerned.

“What did you take last night?”

“I wish I knew, Benji.”

Klaus dusts off his pants and heaves himself up onto the bench; his top and his coat are drenched in sweat, his arms itch, his eyelids tick. He tries to catch his breath, to ride off another wave of sickness. Ben sits next to him, calling for him every so often to make sure he’s not going to pass out. Klaus takes a glimpse of his reality again. _HELLO, little kid My Father Was An Abusive Asshole, GOODBYE._

His head hurts. 

Everything is fuzzy when Ben curses under his breath.

“The police! Klaus, the police!”

“Oh great,” Klaus exhales. He couldn’t make it to the pawn shop a few blocks away from the park where he’s sitting now. He’s got some illegal _weight_ in his pockets. What could possibly go wrong? One, two, three, and the answer is: everything. 

“You gotta leave.”

“Hell, I know,” Klaus tries to get up, he really does. His limbs don’t want to cooperate. “I can’t. I just… Can’t.”

This is not how his psyche used to work — he’s a bladerunner, an adrenaline addict, taking as much of his inner resources as he can when it comes to danger. Now, the danger is an innocently-looking woman with her dark hair gathered up in a ponytail, with her brown eyes filled with worry as she approaches him. 

“Mind if I talk to you?”

Her voice is melodic, her look is strict. He’s gonna get stung with a Taser is he makes a mistake. Klaus is distracted by the ghosts wandering the street, stopping just to have a conversation with him. _Yes, yes, Mr. Victim Of Police Brutality, I know they shot you dead — but what about the boy you killed? He’s there, standing right behind you. How old is he, by the way? Fifteen?_

Klaus groans. 

The woman shoves her badge right under his nose; the letters dance and blend together, he can’t read a word, but he nods anyway. His rights, he got it. The cops used to introduce themselves before beating him into a bloody pulp.

“I’m detective Eudora Patch.” 

Klaus is sure his pupils are still as wide as the solar eclipses, swallowing the greens of his irises. Too sad he broke his favorite sunglasses last week. 

“I’m leaving, sorry,” Klaus attempts to get up again, but his dizziness paralyzes him. “I just… I need a minute, I have… Hypoglycemia,” his tongue stumbles over this monster of a word. 

He zones out then, Eudora shakes him by the shoulder.

“You’re not overdosed, right?”

“Tell her,” Ben insists. 

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Klaus buries his face in his hands. “I lost my yesterday somewhere, it’s weird. You can take a sample of my vomit if you want,” the latter was supposed to be a joke, but Eudora nods. 

“Diego told me about your drug addiction.”

Klaus thinks he misheard her. 

“What?”

“Diego Hargreeves,” she elaborates, still patient. “He hasn’t heard from you in a while, and the chain of those murders got him worried. He’s a good friend of mine,” she cups Klaus’ chin, making him throw his head back as she checks his pupils. _“Oh._ Can you make it to the car on your own?”

 _Murders,_ Klaus’ mind screams at him, _Diego thought I got killed somewhere. Or maybe he thought that I killed my junkie friends for a baggie of pills?_ And well, the ghosts scream too. Klaus still hasn’t answered Eudora’s question, but there’s a man standing next to him, helping him get up — he’s gonna get arrested, he’s too young to go to jail, right? He’s all giddy as he lets the man shove him into a backseat and cuff his wrists. Gently, he’s doing everything gently, although Klaus can tell how much strength his muscular body holds locked inside.

“You good?” he asks. “Diego’s gonna kill me if I bruise you or something.”

His eyes are blue, and these big square glasses make him look like a librarian.

“You look like a librarian,” Klaus says. No filter between his brain and his mouth, great! “What’s your name, darling?”

“Dave,” his _darling_ replies. Klaus can swear Dave blushed. He’s an ice-breaker, isn’t he? “Please, warn us if you need to throw up again.”

With this, he gets into the driver’s seat. Eudora speaks in codes over her walkie-talkie and buckles herself, gesturing at Dave to start the car.

It’s gonna be a wild journey.

*** 

He doesn’t throw up in the police car. He’s about to do so, though, on their way to the interrogation room, when his head clears a little, and he sees more ghosts, and _HELLO, my lovely Jane Doe, you look great with this cellophane wrapped around your head! Do you like Twin Peaks? No? GOODBYE._ No wonder all the ghosts hate him so much. Maybe hanging out with Ben all the time has made him so cynical. 

And well, the interrogation room. 

Klaus puts his hands onto the table, and rests his head onto his forearms. His stomach rebels again as he hears Eudora talk over the phone in the hallway. 

“We got him, yes, he’s alive. Took him to the station, yes, we’re waiting for you. Katz and I… Yes. He doesn’t remember what happened, no. I know what you told me about your brother, but honestly, I think this time it wasn’t consensual. Yes, I’m gonna talk to him.”

Klaus knows Dave hears this too. What a shame. He’s probably too exhausted to be ashamed right now, but well. He can’t push that crippling sensation away. 

“Your neck is bruised.”

Theoretically, Klaus can play the victim card for him — _oh sorry, Mr. Good Cop, I got drugged!_ Accidents happen. Klaus is not _that_ miserable.

“Sometimes I’m just too high to say no.”

He tells that to the table, mostly, his face still pressed to the backs of his hands. Dave doesn’t add anything else, sighing and dragging the chair across the concrete. Klaus feels so disgustingly sober when Diego arrives, storming into the room like a hurricane. 

Klaus greets him with his tattooed palm.

Diego greets him with a slap over his head. Sibling culture. 

“How did you manage to get out of the shelter alive?” Diego crosses his arms over his chest. “What did you see?”

“What?” Klaus pulls back along with the chair. He looks at Ben, terrified, but Ben is just as puzzled as Klaus is. 

“Somebody killed people in the shelter where you spent last night,” Eudora says. There’s nothing good about the black paper folder she holds pressed to her chest. “Drug addicts, homeless ones — seven of them, throats slit, personal things stolen. We got your fingerprints all over the place, Klaus.”

“They were alive when we left,” Ben interjects, voice shaky. “Tell them.”

“I didn’t kill them,” Klaus almost snaps. “I just… Robbed them, yes, I did that, but that’s my only crime, I swear!”

His palms sweat, his nausea returns when Eudora shows him the crime scene photos, spreading them on the table like cards — blood, blood, dead eyes, dead bodies. Wounds like necklaces on their throats. Klaus remembers them breathe. All of them, he’s sure. A ghost with a similar wound looks over Klaus’ shoulder, interested, trying to pipe in, but there’s only an indistinct gurgle instead of a story. Klaus suddenly feels like his bladder is about to burst. 

“Calm down, Klaus, we’re just trying to pour some light onto this case. Do you recognize anyone?” Eudora asks. Softly. Dammit, these are definitely some wrong cops, they’re too polite. 

“No.”

He doesn’t. 

Diego points his finger at the pictures again.

“Think some more.”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember anything!” Klaus shakes his hands, the chain dings. “I swear I’m not lying. I… Shit,” it’s not easy to admit. “I had sex with a guy. But I have no idea with which one, I feel sick, can we take a break?”

Diego is non-committal.

“We’re getting back there. I need you to conjure them. Are you sober enough?”

Klaus looks around. Yes, he is. He also desperately needs to use the bathroom.

“Give him a minute, Diego,” Eudora takes him by the elbow. “I wanna show you something else what Beeman managed to find,” she adds, guiding him out of the room.

Dave puts the photos back into the folder and leaves too, locking the door with a click. 

Klaus takes a deep breath and waits. 

“What now? Are they gonna accuse me or something?”

“I don’t know,” Ben replies. “Diego wants you to talk to the victims. There’s a possibility that entering the crime scene will boost your powers.”

“He’s not even working there, he’s just a vigilante,” Klaus moans. “Why does he think he can manipulate me?”

“Because you’re the one taken to the police station high off his ass,” Ben points out. “Drug possession also.” 

They took off his coat with all the stuff as soon as they arrived to the station, and Klaus is cold, jittery and confused. There are the ghosts staring at him, all silent for once. 

“Why are you looking at me?”

He regrets his question instantly, clasping his palms over his ears to not hear. _Help us, help us! Why did they kill us? Why, Klaus?_

“Teach them some manners, Ben,” Klaus grumbles.

Being sober is like riding a rollercoaster, and Klaus reaches the point where he feels sick again. He nearly loses all of his bodily fluids he’s been holding for hours when he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“Christ on a cracker!”

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Dave puts a plastic cup of coffee on the table. And a donut with sprinkles. “I thought you might be hungry. And… We’re gonna get back to the shelter. Diego said…” Dave pauses. “Can you _really_ talk to the dead?”

Klaus gives him an uncertain nod. 

“I can’t control it. They’re loud.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t act like a cop,” Klaus says. His coffee remains untouched as his bladder gives him another warning. “I need to pee,” he gives up. 

“Ah shit,” Dave gives him a sympathetic look.

Klaus hopes Dave’s not gonna have any problems for letting him use the restroom around the corner. It feels like heaven, although Dave asks him to leave the door open, but Klaus doesn’t care. He washes his hands for a long time after that, splashing handfuls of water onto his face and slapping his cheeks to give them some color. His neck is black and blue, his striped top is ripped on the side. _How pathetic,_ a ghost comments, and Klaus wishes he had tattooed a FUCK OFF on his left palm instead of a sweet-sweet GOODBYE. _I can’t see you, Mr. I’m Covering My Blown Up Brain With A Fedora, I can’t see you._ His pupils look a bit better though.

“Do you smoke?” Klaus turns to Dave so abruptly he flinches. 

“No.”

Klaus pouts. 

“Good for you.”

“Is it true that your father is a billionaire?” Dave blurts out. “I’m sorry, I’m new to this department.”

“Yeah,” Klaus nods. They leave the bathroom, but Dave takes him outside instead of the interrogation room. “Don’t I look like a billionaire’s son?” he chuckles, straightening his back. “I’m sure Reggie doesn’t give a shit about what his adoptive kids are doing now.”

“So the Umbrella Academy was something more than those comic books then?”

Klaus points at his Umbrella tattoo. 

“It’s just a brand. He branded us. We cried, but the tattoo artist dude didn’t stop. Though he was utterly shocked when I came to him after my brother Ben’s death to get some more tattoos.”

They stand next to the police car, waiting for Diego and Eudora apparently. And talking to Dave almost makes Klaus forget about the withdrawal and about the ghosts. 

“Wait,” Klaus stops as the realization shocks him. “Do you believe _me?”_

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“People don’t take me seriously,” Klaus shrugs. “Even my own family. Even Diego. And now your investigation might turn to some the X-files type of crap.”

Dave suppresses the smile and replies, all seriousness,

“I don’t believe in aliens, by the way.”

*** 

He’s glad he hadn’t drank that coffee, because otherwise he’s sure he would’ve thrown it back up already. Gladly, there’s no bodies. Sadly, there’s still the smell. Awful, pungent stench corroding all of his receptors; disinfectant, sweat, piss and blood. Klaus chokes and gasps, clutching his wobbly knees with his hands as he bends over. 

Dave rubs his back, but Diego swats his arm away. 

“Let him focus.”

Neither Eudora nor Diego feel it. Dave seems to be pretty calm too. 

“Do you see them?”

“Diego, I think this is pointless…”

“He’s a fucking Seance, come on, bro, talk to them!”

Klaus looks around the shelter again. It’s empty, but not for him. He sees the souls that can’t find their light in the darkness, lost and lonely, burning him with the gaze of their sunken eyes. Klaus is mesmerized by the sight of the blood stains on the furniture, on the walls, cursing his empathy as the atmosphere of this place bashes him. Suddenly, he’s thirteen again, locked in a mausoleum, curled into himself on the floor, being punished for his fear of the dead. And the room he’s standing in is so tight, tight, tight that the only sound he can hear is his own heartbeat. Klaus shields his head with his forearms to not see _them_ and rushes to the door, but Diego blocks his way, pushing him back into the ghostly arms of his pursuers. 

“I can’t, I’m not sober enough,” Klaus cries out.

This is the only argument that works for Diego. Klaus doesn’t see anything around him as he leans against the wall and trudges towards the exit; there’s too many hands on him, this has definitely happened before — cold arms dragging him to the bed, choking him, holding him still, and “I got something for you” instead of a “good night”, and “it was your fault — you wanted it hard” instead of a “good morning.”

He can’t even count how many times he had passed out during a breathplay, or how many times he had puked after taking it too deep. Crackhead strength is a killer. 

Good thing, it only slaps him when he’s sober. Bad thing, he’s far too sober for his liking now. 

“Breathe, breathe, you’ve just panicked.”

There’s a bottle of water being pushed to his lips. The cap is unscrewed, how sweet. He drinks, completely unaware of how dehydrated he’s been. He belches when the bottle is empty, tasting bile again.

“Sorry. Thank you.”

Klaus looks at his savior — Dave, who sits next to him on the porch cross-legged. 

“Don’t mention that.”

“We’re gonna do that again tomorrow,” Diego plays with one of his knives, looking pissed. “Klaus, get up, you’re going with me.”

“No-o,” Klaus whines. “You’re gonna make me eat those protein bars again, and I can’t stomach protein!”

“So eating from the dumpsters sounds better for you?”

Klaus doesn’t respond. He can’t even think of food. He can’t think.

“I can put him into a holding cell,” Eudora offers. “There’s a bed, and we can offer him a meal.”

“I’m still here, you know,” Klaus bristles. He’s tired, just tired. 

“Come with me?”

“What?”

“I have a spare room in the house I rent, and...” Dave hesitates. “You can stay there for as long as you want. No protein bars for dinner, I promise.”

“So tempting, but can we finally take these off?” Klaus outstretches his hands. The skin on his bony wrists is all red and irritated. Good thing, he couldn’t scratch his forearms. Bad thing, he’s gonna do it now. 

Dave takes the key out of his pocket, and Klaus takes a look at his holster. The gun is here. Klaus pushes away the desire to touch it once his arms are free, his nails dig into his poorly tanned skin, leaving long red lines all over his biceps and his neck, uglifying it even more.

“Don’t do it,” Ben warns. 

“The withdrawal’s not gonna look pretty,” Diego says. 

And Dave says,

“I know. I think I can help.”

*** 

Diego gives Dave a black duffel bag with Klaus’ clothes he didn’t know he owned; Diego has just brought all of his belongings he could find in his boiler room. Klaus was leaving his tops, skirts and some fancy underwear there for years, and he’s grateful now. Stolen, found, bought. 

He’s not that picky. 

Now he’s standing in Dave’s bathroom, taking his soiled clothes off; he’s so eager to get rid of it he can’t be bothered that Dave is still probably watching him. Dave brings him a fresh towel, averting his gaze from Klaus’ half naked body. His neon pink briefs put on display his bruised thighs and his busted knees.

Klaus can read the emotions in Dave’s eyes. Pity, concern, no words needed. 

“It was a long night,” Klaus says, somewhat apologetically.

The ghosts are not gonna give him a tiniest bit of privacy. 

Dave nods and leaves him alone with his thoughts and monsters.

Klaus fills the bathtub, plunges his head into the water and cries. 

***

Dave cares about him, and it’s so weird to feel it — Dave somehow finds the right words to keep the ghosts at bay, but they’re still here. Klaus can’t handle it, he wants to sink through the floor, to soak through the white bathrobe Dave has given him. 

“Do you feel better?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just peachy.”

Dave is nice. Klaus is suddenly depressed. He’s always been, to be fair, but he never had a chance to feel it. Dave’s house is much better than the rehab, because Dave listens to him, Dave helps him treat his scratches and bruises. 

“We can talk about what happened today, if you want.”

Klaus doesn’t know what he wants. To get high? Probably. To look better in Dave’s eyes? Absolutely. _Yes, Mr. Dead Homophobe, you can call me a sinner already._ Klaus looks at his poorly applied black nail polish to not look at the scar on Dave’s upper arm, peeking out from underneath a short sleeve of his polo shirt. He’s taken his glasses off, putting them onto the armrest. Not safe, Klaus broke his sunglasses just like that. 

_Don’t ask him about his scars just like he doesn’t ask you about your bruises, don’t ask —_

“I served in Afghanistan,” Dave suddenly breaks the silence. “A Hell of a war, you know. I…” he tugs at the sleeve. “I got shot, and then they took me hostage along with four other guys from my brigade. They held us in an empty warehouse for three months, torturing us for information. I got some secret documents, and I thought I was mu-u-uch braver,” his voice cracks. “But you’re nothing but a bug under the soldiers’ shoes when they shove a barrel of a rifle into your mouth. Or when you see your good friends being killed one by one. It was almost too late when US patrol found me there. Their luck I was too exhausted to tell all the secrets. Otherwise I wouldn’t have endured that.”

He stops, almost as if he regrets what he has just said. Klaus reads his body language, he’s good at languages — Dave is all tensed, body rigid, waiting for the attack.

“Dave, dear,” Klaus throws his arm over Dave’s shoulder. “You’re a true hero! Without a cape, yeah. It’s even better this way.”

Dave smiles with the corner of his mouth and hugs him. 

“It feels like I’ve known you for a long time, huh.”

People rarely touch Klaus like this — delicately, tenderly. His skin crawls, and Dave instantly pulls away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” Klaus screws his eyes shut again. “Just… Ghosts, you know.”

He doesn’t mention that these ghosts have track marks and bleeding throats. 

***

Dave wants to take him out for a jog, but Klaus asks Dave to buy him a pack of cigarettes instead. He pleads even. Dave caves, but doesn’t let him smoke in the bedroom. 

“You’re gonna have to quit smoking.”

“I’m almost two days sober, let me celebrate a little!”

One more drag, and he gets queasy. He needs weed. But he doesn’t want to be a pain in Dave’s ass; he gets a call from Diego and listens to him intently, pressing his lips to a thin line.

“Do you know Carter Sullivan? Klaus?”

“No?”

“He doesn’t,” Dave reports over the phone. “Okay, we’re going.”

“We?”

Klaus perks up, but Dave doesn’t seem excited. 

“I’m taking you to the police station. Eudora found something… Important.”

“So we’re like, partners now?”

“Something like that.”

Dave nods, Klaus finishes his morning coffee and follows him; it’s easy be a part of something big until this mystery doesn’t try to swallow him whole. But maybe, that’s gonna happen fairly soon. Talking is not _easy._ Especially when all of them are packed in the interrogation room again, and Eudora informs them that there was some _biological material_ on the bed sheets and some blood. Klaus’ blood. It’s humiliating, because he’s vaguely aware of that, and _no, miss Dead Hooker, I’m not gonna end up like you, oh jeez, shove your guts back into your belly._

“Why didn’t you say anything? You were _working,_ weren’t you?” 

Diego is stern.

Klaus is helpless.

“The guy just couldn’t control himself, it’s not a big deal,” he laughs a little to mask that sad, _sad_ note in his tone called _oh shit, they know._ “Those raw eggs you used to drink every morning affected your brain somehow, like, your memory filtered my words to a blank page. Is this like, a salmonella?”

_Talk more shit to distract them._

Dave clenches his fists.

“Klaus,” Eudora interrupts Diego’s angry humming. “We just want to help. You don’t have to try and protect your abuser.”

“I know it looks like we only need your p-powers, but believe me, bro, we care about you.”

And Klaus believes him.

LIfe’s good for as long as Klaus’ hands aren’t cuffed again, so he doesn’t argue — they insist on him getting checked for everything he can possibly get checked for. They don’t mention the R-word, and he tries to not dwell on it either. Dave takes him to a hospital and Klaus’ role in this case switches from “witness” to a “victim” as the doctors take his blood and whatever samples they should take to get the tests done.

He’s surprised when Dave takes him back home.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Klaus heaves out a sigh. “If you need to go back to the station, like, feel free to just leave me there.”

“Don’t push him away,” Ben says from the corner of the room. “He really wants to protect you.”

“Protect me from _what?_ From what has already happened? From what he can’t even see? Come on, this is just ridiculous!”

It takes him a while to realize that Dave is listening. Along with a bunch of mutilated soldiers behind him, wearing torn and bloodied fatigues. 

“Seriously? All of you?” Klaus lets out a desperate whine. “I don’t want to talk to you, don’t look at me like that!”

Their glances hurt more than punches. Klaus falls onto the bed face first, nearly smothering himself with a pillow; he feels Dave’s hand ruffling his hair. Dave tells him to breathe. Klaus breathes, all painful in and outs, shaking and sweating, and the need to get high has never been this strong. He knows where Dave keeps his wallet, he knows that there is silver tableware in the kitchen drawers. He knows, and he needs somebody to stop him. 

When Klaus lifts his head from the pillow, the ghosts are gone. All of them. Including Ben.

He must’ve fallen asleep during his mental breakdown, and Dave is lying right next to him, spooning him, with his arm thrown protectively across Klaus’ stomach. He feels Dave’s soft breathing on the back of his neck; Dave jerks and withdraws his hand when Klaus stretches. 

“I didn’t want to leave you alone,” Dave yawns. 

“Oh, it’s fine, I don’t mind. You’re living there, you know.”

Klaus doesn’t like the way his own voice sounds — too raspy, too high-pitched, too _please, don’t hurt me._

Dave turns over onto his back. Klaus takes his hand, squeezes it. 

“You and Diego wear too much leather.”

“Oh really?” Klaus slaps his thigh. “These laces make these pants pretty breathy though. Comfy, highly recommended.”

Klaus likes it about Dave — switching the topics at the most inappropriate moments. Klaus likes _everything_ about Dave already. Drained with panic, he feels almost drunk — he used to flirt with people when he’s drunk. Sometimes they get some _non-existent_ “hints.”

“You know I could’ve just picked your house clean like I used to do with my lovers’ apartments. When they had actual apartments. Motel rooms worked just fine too.”

And Dave replies,

“I know. I read your file.”

Of course he did. Klaus sighs. He got a bunch of mugshots a few years ago, for public intoxication; _now I got a portfolio,_ he laughed. And Ben didn’t. Klaus still thinks it was a funny joke. Sobriety is overrated, and sex is overrated too — he can’t do it when he’s sober, when he’s surrounded with lifeless silhouettes, shapeless spots, grimaces of pain. He tried, and it sucked. Withdrawal sex for a dose sucked too — less ghosts, more humiliation. The high was usually worth it. 

Good thing, Dave doesn’t quote his file. 

Bad thing, now he knows more details than Klaus can even remember. 

Dave turns the TV on, and they watch rom-coms until it gets dark; nothing that can trigger them, nothing that can scare him. Again, Dave doesn’t leave at midnight, just asking _is this okay? Of course it is,_ Klaus says.

The ghosts watch them sleep. 

*** 

The ghosts scream. 

Their pleas reverberate through Klaus’ bones, making his insides turn to jelly and fill his mouth. He sits up and gasps; he retches into his clenched fist, but nothing comes up. Dave keeps rubbing his back as he heaves, unable to lift his head up and meet them again.

_Follow us, Klaus! Follow us, help us! We know who killed us!_

“Fine!” he cries out, eyes still glued shut. “Fine! I’m coming, whatever you want, just please, please, shut up. Shut up,” he whispers. His throat is parched, his heart hurts. “Dave, we gotta go to the shelter,” he takes Dave’s hand blindly.

“It’s… It’s them?”

Dave is scared, too, Klaus can swear he never knew how crowded empty rooms can be. 

Dread coils in his stomach, Klaus wipes the sweat and tears off his face; _it’s them._ He feels like he’s been plunged into an ice bath, and _they_ — they’re dead, they can’t even talk properly. Each gurgle forces the blood to fountain out from the wounds in their necks. 

“They’re just so real, I can’t, I can’t! Go away!”

“They won’t hurt you.”

It’s Ben. Klaus missed him. Ben can see them too.

_Help us!_

“Klaus! Get up, dear, please!” Dave waves at him, holding the car keys. 

Klaus walks to him slowly, to not bump into one of the corpses, his arms are all itchy, littered with goosebumps and scratches — he doesn’t remember scratching them. 

He can feel Ben’s presence in the backseat as Dave starts the engine. 

*** 

The shelter looks even creepier now. Dave unlocks the door, it’s illegal, probably. Dave doesn’t ask for backup. It’s illegal too. He’s got a gun, of course, but now it’s the most useless thing.

_Do your thing, Klaus, do your thing._

They’re worse than the overdose, worse than the rehabs. He’s never been good at living a decent life. 

The darkness of the hallway mocks him.

“Are you sure?”

God, of course he isn’t.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure.”

He might die of a heart attack before something happens. 

And it happens. 

When the door behind Klaus slams shut, he blacks out for a second. When his eyes adjust a little, everything is foggy.

“Dave? Oh, no, Dave!”

He slams his fists on the door, trying to push it back open, but whatever lives in the shelter has already separated them.

“I can’t open it!”

Dave’s voice is muffled. 

Klaus hears the footsteps behind him.

“I didn’t expect a coward like you to visit me again.”

Klaus turns around. 

“Come on, little junkie, we had fun together.”

“Who are you?”

He takes a step into a depth of the room; the full moon is so bright that its light fills the space like golden dust. Which makes the man standing in front of Klaus even paler, corpse-like.

“Don’t you remember me?”

His eyes are dark, frame skinny, reddish hair sticks to his forehead like worms. 

“Let me guess,” Klaus bites his lips. _Play it cool, you dumbass._ “Rick? Nah, you don’t look like _Rick._ Maybe Nathan? Oh no, sorry,” he notices a knife in the guy’s hand. Thin and long, a silver artefact of death. “Carter Sullivan then, am I right?”

The tension in his chest eases a little when he sees Ben. Carter bares his teeth. 

“You brought your brother? I thought it would be a fair fight?”

“What? What do you… How?”

Klaus staggers backwards when Carter is about to attack him. 

“You’re a cheater!”

“Oh, you know, I have a brother who really likes daggers, and I’d suggest you to drop that thing before you hurt yourself or any...”

Carter doesn’t let him finish, bouncing forward and knocking Klaus off his feet; a carpet on the floor doesn’t soften the hit, Klaus is winded, a pang of pain strikes his right side. He can’t get the air back into his lungs when Carter backhands him, snapping his head to the side, sitting on his thighs and pressing the knife to his Adam’s apple. Klaus grips at Carter’s forearm to keep the knife away from his throat, but the ghosts flood the room again, all of them — all track marks and bruises, bloodied chests and skeletal limbs. 

Carter’s eyes are white.

“He’s possessed!” Ben shouts, voicing Klaus’ thoughts. “Klaus, he’s possessed!”

“You thought I will never find you, Klaus? You thought you could leave me locked up in a mausoleum?”

The ghost’s words trigger another horrifying flashback. Klaus is a kid, a terrified little kid huddled in a corner of a cold crypt, and the spirits yell at him, tell him how worthless he is, he can’t help, he can’t brace himself to talk to them. One of them is just far too angry, wanting to crawl into his body — a middle-aged man with a rat mustache, and it’s disgusting. Klaus _doesn’t let him,_ he cries and the ghosts disappear. He sees this man one more time before taking a flight downstairs and breaking his jaw.

He hasn’t been sober since. Until today.

“I manifested you when I was a kid,” Klaus barks out. “It’s time to fuck off, Mr. Rat Mustache.” 

His bravery is just a poor disguise, he feels violated and sick.

Mr. Rat Mustache laughs, spittle flying out of Carter’s mouth.

“It should’ve been you! I wanted to possess _you_ while that guy was fucking you! You were as high as a kite and I accidentally slipped into the wrong body. But now I’m gonna fix that!”

Klaus can’t breathe. His mind was traveling through different realms, and it saved his life for once — he can feel Mr. Rat Mustache’s frenzy — this is why he killed those junkies. He was mad. He wanted to take revenge, to maybe twist everything his way and get Klaus locked up in a prison if he can’t _possess_ him.

The ghosts just wanted _to warn_ him. 

“Keep talking, it’s so thrilling.”

It gives him some time. 

It gives Ben some time. 

Because Klaus doesn’t quite understand what happens next — there are blue sparkles running up and down his fingers, and the next thing he knows is that the white veil falls off Carter’s eyes. He hits the floor with a thud and Klaus blankly checks his pulse, barely feeling some. He feels weird, sober and high at the same time, and Ben and other ghosts surround the real killer once his phantom leaves Carter’s body — they scream and nearly tear him apart. Klaus doesn’t know the ghost’s real name, and this nickname turns him to some sort of a grotesque villain, a final boss you have to fight to get to the next level. 

Klaus’ next level is a rehab, apparently.

And Carter’s next level is jail.

Klaus can’t participate in a ghostly fight, he can’t move as he watches — he didn’t know the ghosts could just kill each other for the second time. And this is what they do, cornering Rat Mustache, and Ben’s Horror keeps landing punches until he shrinks. Klaus expects to see the Hell’s fire, but the afterlife laws disappoint him once again.

“He’s gone,” Ben is gleaming blue, matching Klaus’ hands. “Whatever happened to him, he’s gone.”

“How did you do that?”

They’re alone here again. Well, plus an unconscious Carter.

“I didn’t,” Ben replies. “You did.”

Klaus barely manages to press himself to the wall when Diego, Eudora and Dave barge into the shelter, holding their guns; Klaus raises his arms, HELLO and GOODBYE, whichever you prefer. 

The guns are lowered, he falls into Dave’s embrace all boneless and frazzled. 

“I found our guy,” Klaus squeals out. “Can we go home now?”

*** 

After the encounter with Rat Mustache Carter’s brain is so screwed that he’s gonna spend the rest of his life in a mental institution. Technically, the Bad Dead Guy is punished by his own victims, and his vessel is… Drooling all over the pillow, bedridden. Klaus doesn’t press charges. Carter Sullivan got a mile long list of crimes he can get accused of. Klaus can’t even tell how he feels about the whole situation — he just wants to move on. He’s sober now, almost two weeks, manifesting Ben from time to time. 

Klaus is still afraid of his watchers. 

“I always hated _Ghostbusters,_ you know. _The Exorcist_ seemed too far-fetched either.”

Dave throws his arm over Klaus’ shoulder.

“Yeah, me too. I’m not a big fan of horror movies.”

 _“Ghostbusters_ is not a horror movie, you know.”

“Really? It scared the shit out of me when I was a kid.”

Klaus turns the TV off.

Ben listens to them talk, sitting in _his own_ armchair. And Klaus doesn’t have to leave Dave’s house anymore since they’ve just clicked together. Dave doesn’t let the sobriety chew Klaus like a gum and spit him out, his encouraging words and tender touches make the whole process of rehabilitation less painful. Memories still hurt him sometimes, but he’s getting better. He’s clean, blood tests haven’t detected anything — he’s ready to live his new life with his new powers. 

It’s all settled. 

Later this evening, the phone in the hallway rings. Klaus is the one to answer, just to say _hello_ and hear Diego’s voice through a static noise. 

“Klaus? It that you?”

“Um, think so?”

“Cool, bro, I need your help. Again.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! also feel free to comment and share your thoughts with me <3  
> \---  
> i have ideas for like 3 works in this series btw


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